Along Came a
by tao-fetish
Summary: The spider picked the wrong chocolate bar to crawl onto...


**Warnings:** Adult language, graphic descriptions of a spider

**Pairing(s):** None really. Unless you want to see it as MelloxMatt. I'll leave it up to your interpretation.

**Author's notes:** Honestly I never thought that I'd write crack. Ever. But then after watching Super Matt World on Youtube, and talking to Sheamaru about how the idea of Matt living inside of a videogame is brilliantly credible considering how much time he spends playing them, I couldn't help myself. And let's face it: reality is boring as fish crap, if you had the choice, wouldn't you rather be running around with your own digitalized theme song? Jumping on people and watching coins pop out of their backs? Isn't that the true American dream?

Except the punch line wasn't Mario, but Matt's FFVII random battle commentary: the spider was just something I stuck in there as a prompt. But then a few days later I came up with the Near sentence, and I had to write it all out as a one-shot. So Mello and the spider ended up getting more attention than the original joke. And this is not a Mello bashing in any shape or form: I love the kid, and so did the spider, so it seems...yeah, I need to lie down for a little bit.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note.

* * *

It came from God knows where, for who truly knew what fissure, what breach in the domestic shield did insects and other unwanted pests use to invade the living spaces of Man. Especially in apartment buildings--in the city no less. Not even the concrete jungle was impenetrable; whatever cesspool they were spawned from was close enough for the trip, and the insects moved in like obnoxious little neighbors.

Except this was not an insect. It was an arachnid, as his years of cramming book knowledge into his head reminded him, due to its eight narrow legs sticking out at awkward angles on its black body.

He could practically see its miniscule cluster of beady eyes, and the cleft mouth hanging beneath them. Farther behind that grotesque alien mask lay a brain roughly the size of a needle head, containing the blind idiocy that provoked the creature to ascend the table and join Mello where he was enjoying his fifth chocolate bar of the day, minding his own business until the spider sat down in front of him and almost robbed him of his appetite...almost.

But unlike the neurotic Miss Muffet, the spider did not frighten Mello away, instead he stared holes into it, but the little bastard wouldn't budge, and this infuriated Mello beyond belief. He took pleasure≈no; he took pride in the fact that he could strike fear into the hearts of many with just a withering glance. Like that time at the grocery store when he made a store clerk cry after unwittingly stating that he had the same haircut as the berries and cream guy from the Starbursts commercial. Jumping over the counter and threatening to shove a Swiffer up his ass might have had a little something to do with it, but he had power in his eyes, and impressive as those glaring powers were, they seemed to have no effect on arachnids. The spider stayed glued to where it was, as if it were trying to blend into the wood, and failed miserably at it too.

Stupid spider.

Stupid useless piece of shit spider. Mello didn't care if they were commodities to society, that they ate mosquitoes and other things and prevented them from overpopulating and taking over the world: he hated them. Almost as much as he hated Near. His idea of Hell was not devils and pitchforks, but being trapped in a cave with a giant spider with Near's face attached to its furry body that lays eggs in your colon. Or in life it was your colon; in death it becomes a warm wet nursery for a future swarm of baby spider Nears.

The thought caused Mello to grab at his rosary as if he needed to check that it was still safe around his neck; then he bit off another segmented row of chocolate and proceeded to chew it aggressively while he examined the flat that they called home sweet hideout.

If the apartment was cleaner then they wouldn't have these problems, he thought drumming his gloved fingers against his cheek. Empty pizza boxes, clothes and other random pieces of garbage were strewn on the ground like a carpet, probably breeding more diseases than a terrorist laboratory, and Mello had been avoiding the fridge for a week because of the strange body of mold growing in the corner that he swore growled at him once while he was grabbing a beer.

He had been too busy to clean, and Matt, who was getting better at tuning out of the real world every day, couldn't be expected to notice anything. There could be a dead body rotting naked in the center of the floor and Matt would just step over it without missing a single beat on his DS. He had a love affair with that thing that nobody else could possibly understand┘except maybe other obsessed gamers.

Mello sighed heavily at the thought; then he made the grave mistake of putting his chocolate bar down on the table. And while he only looked away for a second, giving their living space another disapproving look, when he turned back his heart plummeted like an apocalyptic asteroid into his unsuspecting intestines.

The spider had crawled onto his chocolate bar, and it wasn't just standing on the wrapper--oh no. It was standing right on top of the candy itself.

The heat spinning inside his stomach like a carousel could only be described as a furious nausea, bubbling over the edge with the recurring desire to kill, but whenever he tried to move his hand to his gun, the impulse darted underneath his skin only to slam into faulty wires and short circuit impotently within his wrists.

And the spider wouldn't move, they were stuck staring each other down like two cowboys on a dusty street ready to duel, except he couldn't bring himself to shoot the damn thing, and he didn't know _why_...

He wasn't scared of the spider, Mello reminded himself furiously; it wasn't fear that made him hesitate: he just didn't want to touch it, that was all. But he was going to make it pay. He was going to make it wrap its short consciousness around the grave mistake that it made when it decided to soil his precious chocolate bar.

The noise bubble popped inside his throat, and he was the first to break eye contact, tilting his chin towards the ceiling, yelling, "Matt-?!"

When a few seconds frittered by without an answer, Mello raised his voice. "Matt! Get your flat ass in here and kill this spider!"

Still no response. It was always possible that Matt was in the bathroom, or that he had even left and Mello was now barking orders at an empty apartment. But the situation was shredding his last nerve into festive confetti, causing him to lose it; even admit something that he wanted to gut himself immediately for confessing aloud. "I need you, Matt! It's on my chocolate bar! For the love of God kill this fucking spider--"

He could barely process the black and white stripes whizzing past his left eye, or the smell of cigarettes and Tag body spray invading his nostrils before the big book in Matt's hands came crashing down on the spider's world. The sound made Mello bounce in his seat, his eyes bulging in his head partly because of the point blank crash, but mostly because of the bizarre comment out of Matt's mouth that followed:

"BAM!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, as if he even had to verbalize the action. "Spider loses eight hundred HP. Spider dies; Matt takes two hundred sixty-eight Gil and a Fury Fragment."

Mello slowly twisted his head around to the side, his mouth forming around the words, "What the hell are you talking about?" But before he could get them out, Matt was already strolling away, lighting a victory cigarette and nursing it on his way back to what he had been doing; leaving Mello alone to absorb what had just occurred.

He had to take a few seconds before the shock equalized inside his body; then tediously picked up the edge of the book between his fingers, peeking beneath it, and gagged.

All the spider's organs, its tissue, its beady little eyeballs were smashed into a black caviar-like smear. Mello wasn't sure what turned his stomach more: the flattened remains themselves or the barely half-eaten chocolate bar cut down in its innocence by the taint of a corpse. His stomach somersaulted; it felt like somebody had set an explosion underneath his intestines and propelled all his insides up into his throat at once.

He clamped a hand over his mouth, as if a palm and five fingers could possibly hold it all in, and before you could say, "OhdeargodhelpmeI'mgoingtobesick," Mello dashed into the bathroom to throw up.


End file.
